


The Blackguards

by BlueLightningAndNexus



Series: Blue Lightning and Nexus' Multiverse [11]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Assassins & Hitmen, F/M, Italian Mafia, Mercenaries, Modern Era, Morally Ambiguous Character, Past Relationship(s), Superheroes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-19
Updated: 2020-08-19
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:22:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25993597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueLightningAndNexus/pseuds/BlueLightningAndNexus
Summary: A team of mercenaries and former supervillains are assembled to aid the mafia. All original characters. May become an ongoing series.
Relationships: Original Female Character/Original Male Character, Past Original Female Character/Original Male Character
Series: Blue Lightning and Nexus' Multiverse [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1798072





	The Blackguards

Leona Angelsin was the first to get the call. 

Andrew Willis--a globally-recognized billionaire with more money than he knew what to do with, and an insatiable urge for more--had worked with Angelsin in the past. He knew of her status and her “gifts,” as he called them, quite well. He’d seen them firsthand. 

Leona’s late father--Lincoln Angelsin--had been good friends with Willis back in the day, when Andrew was a broke 30-something living in a one-room apartment in Boston, trying to get his tech company off the ground. The very same tech company that would go on to take the world by storm, in no small part thanks to Lincoln’s precognition and clairsentience. Leona was lucky enough to inherit both of these abilities. 

So, when Willis made the finishing touches for his trip to Rome to meet with the Don Donato Wick of the Italian mafia, he called Leona seconds after. 

“I have an offer for you.” 

Leona’s bags were packed before the conversation was over. 

__________

Savannah Gardener was the second to be called. 

A long-time enemy of the Elementals (especially their leader, that pretentious old bastard Captain Quake), Savannah--known in the circles of Boston as “Venus”--had been running from the law for years, ever since the Elementals and Valkyries had won over public favor. It was enough to have the police looking for her, but to have a bunch of superpowered freaks doing the same...not a great situation. But Gardener could take care of herself; her sound control was a feared ability in the super community. 

Willis sent one of his men to meet her on September 30th. Gardener was currently hiding out in Salem, operating under the alias of “Henrietta Olesya.” That night, shortly after dinner, Gardener heard the doorbell ring and her fight-or-flight instincts went into overdrive. Expecting a police officer that had finally caught up to her, or maybe some more of those bastards in the CIA, she instead found a man no older than 30 at her doorstep. He was dressed sharply, but his sandy blond hair was a mess, a sloppy bowl cut that threatened to swallow his eyes. 

“Hello, Ms. Olesya.”

Savannah said nothing, but her eyes narrowed at the stranger. “You a cop?”

“No, no, certainly not, Henrietta. Or would you prefer I call you by your real name?”

The messenger felt the cold barrel of a gun pressing into his diaphragm, all as Savannah maintained intense eye contact. 

“You have three seconds before I pull the trigger on this, so talk fast,” she told him, voice low, cold. “We’re pretty far in the outskirts. I wouldn’t be surprised if you bled out before an ambulance arrived.”

“Now, where’s the fun in that?” he asked. “Wouldn’t it be so much more efficient for you to use your Audiokinesis and destroy my eardrums? Or shatter my bones?”

“You aren’t helping your case there, bud.” Her finger wrapped around the trigger. 

He held up both hands in a surrender gesture. “I come on behalf of my employer, Andrew Willis.”

He watched a variety of emotions cross her face all in quick succession. Confusion, frustration, reluctance. Acceptance. 

“What the hell does he want?”

“It’s a job, miss. Are you familiar with Don Donato?”

“Can’t say I have,” she replied. “Doesn’t sound like the sort of person I’d know.”

“My employer has just finalized some details with him. He’s transporting some hidden cargo across the ocean to Rome, and he wants help.”

Savannah raised an eyebrow. Name any major trade or criminal operation in the last 15 years, and chances were good Andrew Willis had his hands in it in some way, shape or form. While he might appear on the surface as the affable, somewhat neurotic CEO of a massive tech company, he was so, so much more. What was it this time? Weapons? Drugs? 

“So, what, I’d just be some over glorified bodyguard?”

“Your gifts are wasting away in this town, Gardener.” Her scowl deepend at his words. 

“Don’t talk like you know me,” she said. “Bad idea to piss off a woman when she’s armed.” To send her point home, she leaned forward slightly, pushing the barrel of the weapon against his crisp, wrinkleless suit. 

“I see that now,” he said. “My employer promises to pay you handsomely, just as he has others.”

Savannah’s shoulders relaxed a bit. Her face softened an oh-so-small, microscopic amount. “Others?”

“Ms. Angelsin--the woman known as Mentis--was just recruited by Willis himself the other night.”

Savannah thought for a moment, before putting the gun down. She trusted Leona’s judgement; if she was onboard, she had faith that things wouldn’t go south and she’d need to abandon her name and home. Again. 

“Fine. If Leona’s in, I’m in.”

Willis’ messenger smiled. “I’m glad to hear it. There will be others. He said you might already know one of them.” The messenger paused for a moment trying to remember the name. “...Nox, I believe he was called?”

Leona took a step back. “Oh, brother,” she muttered. 

__________

In certain circles, Tempus was recognized as one of the most powerful supers to ever live. 

The JX14 gene--which scientists say had been around for decades, but truly came to the public’s attention in the last 10 years or so--was a wonderful little thing, a baffling chapter in human genetics. People with it could lift cars over their head, fly through the clouds, hold their breath for hours on end. It had birthed the world’s greatest superheroes, and most of the world’s worst supervillains. 

It had also created Damien Jinx, the only known super with the power to control time. Specifically, he could rewind time, but only for a brief window. Though, his neighbors and friends in town didn’t know he was a ridiculously powerful superhuman. They just knew him as Damien, that quirky fellow who lives down the block, or Damien, that nice young man who built me a crib, or Damien, that kind man who babysat my kids when I went out of town. 

With those abilities in mind, Jinx was the third person Willis reached out to. 

Well technically, **he** didn’t reach out to them. But on that cold October morning in Milford, Michigan, Damien opened the door to find one of Willis’ messengers. He was a rather short, pudgy man with high cheekbones and a dark complexion, eyes the color of leaves in the fall. Damien had to resist the urge to roll his eyes; he already knew what this was. 

“Good evening, Mr. Jinx,” the man said. “I am here on behalf of Andrew Wi--”

“Yeah, yeah, spare me the speech,” Damien said. “What does the big guy want this time?” 

Without saying another word, the messenger handed Damien a package, turned around, and left. Damien grunted, and closed the door. 

Opening up the package, he found a small tape recorder in it with a message attached: PLAY ME. 

This time, Damien fully succumbed to the urge to roll his eyes. Willis always had a penchant for the theatrical. Damien hit the small triangle, and listened to the message. 

“Good evening, Damien,” Andrew said on the recorder. Damien chuckled. That asshole had an entire company’s worth of brilliant technology on hand, and was using a device almost as old as Damien to send such an important invitation. “Or, morning, or afternoon, or whenever Hubert delivered this to you.”

Damien put the recorder down on the nearby coffee table, listening to the message as he poured himself a glass of water. 

“I rather enjoyed working with you on our last mission. I’ve recently finalized some details with an old friend of mine in Italy. We have some precious...cargo, and we could use a hand in delivering it. Especially one as gifted as yourself.”

As Damien finished his water, it occurred to him that Willis probably liked pre-recorded messages so he couldn’t be interrupted. If he were here, talking with Damien right now, the super would kindly tell him to cut the flattery and show the dough. 

“So far, we have Mentis and Venus on our side. I imagine the former will want to spearhead this operation, and the latter will be happy to comply. I have a couple more, er, friends to reach out to.”

He remembered the last time he and Angelsin worked together. They’d been hired to take out some high-ranking crime lord in Costa Rica who’d been selling drugs to kids on the street. Damien winced a bit at the memory. Were they on the other side of this now? Were they going to act as the very people they might have killed a year ago? Damien pushed the thought away. 

“Our flight departs October 8th,” Willis muttered. “We’ll be at a private airfield I own just outside of Jefferson City. I look forward to seeing you there.”

Damien was about to reach over to pick up the tape recorder, but smoke started emitting out of it. _Because of course, why wouldn’t he reference Mission Impossible?_ Damien thought to himself. _That weirdo always loved his old movies._ The black-haired super knocked the recorder off his table, eyeing the black mark it left on the brown wood. 

“Goddammit, Andrew. I’m billing you for a new table.”

__________

Damon Nox expected a number of things when he heard a knock on the door. Maybe the delivery guy was finally dropping off those books he ordered weeks ago. Maybe it was his neighbor, that sweet 20-something coming to ask if she could borrow a couple of eggs. Maybe it was some of the local girl scouts coming to sell him their cookies. 

Nope. It was his ex. 

The second he saw Savannah’s face, he slammed the door shut right then and there. Or, at least, he attempted to. Savannah blocked the door with her foot, trying not to wince at the pain in her toe. 

“I thought I told you: I don’t ever want to see you again.” Damon made no attempt to hide his scowl, or the venom of his words, or the contempt that lined his eyes. 

“I’m not exactly thrilled about this either,” Savannah replied. Damon’s eyes followed her arm, resting against the metal door handle. He gripped the handle and heated it until the metal turned red, and she immediately jumped back, a small red burn on her arm. 

“Get the fuck out,” he told her. “I’m not about to get wrapped up in one of your crazy schemes again.”

He slammed the door to his small cabin shut. At the last second, he increased the weight of the door; it slammed with what sounded like the force of a small earthquake. Damon leaned up against the door frame. He’d just rolled out of bed, and he looked like it: a five o’clock shadow covered his chin, dark bags underlined eyes he could barely keep open, and his mouth reeked of morning breath. It was his own fault for sleeping in until almost 10, but still. 

“I’m not here to hash up old wounds. I’m here with an offer.”

Damon practically jumped. He faced his left, the source of the voice, but saw nothing. He sighed, and remembered who he was dealing with. 

“Savannah, I really don’t have time for this right now.”

She was using her audiokinesis to literally throw her voice in the house, talking with him as if they weren’t separated by a thick oak wall. 

“You were always hard on cash back when we were together. Figured you could use an extra job to help keep things afloat.”

“Sav--”

“Just hear me out. It’s Andrew Willis. Again. He needs a bunch of supers for him. Bodyguards basically. Enforcers and escorts. Sounds like me and a few others are heading to Rome by the end of the week.”

The voice stopped for a minute. Damon’s initial seething rage at the sight of his ex started to fade, if only a bit, and he allowed his sleep-deprived mind to mull over what she was saying. He had to admit, this didn’t exactly sound bad. It was just guard work, after all. 

“I don’t want to hear about whatever beef you have with me. Just take the fucking job or not, and this conversation can end. Yes or no.”

Damon rubbed his eyes. He couldn’t fucking believe this. 

He threw open the door, and found that she hadn’t moved from her spot on his porch. 

“Fine. Give me an hour to pack.”

__________

Zeke never had a good childhood, or even a stable one. His parents were two of the most powerful supers of their time: Elementoid and Hell Raiser, two villains of the Valkyries. It was inevitable that he’d inherit the JX14 gene, but no one anticipated he’d activate it at only 6 years old. From that point on, it was training, day in and day out; not only for his body and abilities, but his mind as well. 

His parentage considered, it seemed inevitable that Zeke would follow in their footsteps. No, he wasn’t a merciless thug or yet another conniving bitch trying to take over the world, but you don’t make a name for yourself as one of the 21st century’s best assassins while staying on the straight and narrow path. 

So when a woman named Mentis who claimed to see the future knocked on his door, while his girlfriend Riley Sephiran--a competent, borderline robotic mercenary in her own right--slept soundly, he wasn’t even surprised. 

“...And so that’s why the CEO of Willis Industries is extending an offer to help transport some cargo across the Atlantic Ocean for the Don of the Italian Mafia.”

Leona finally took a breath after several straight minutes of talking. Zeke’s facial expression remained completely neutral. Unreadable. 

“You know, that last sentence alone would have fazed a lot of people,” Leona said. Zeke shrugged. 

“You came to work with the best, right? The best aren’t usually fazed,” he replied. Leona pondered that for a moment. 

Zeke turned around, looking back at the ajar bedroom door in his apartment, Riley on the other side. 

“Where did you say we were meeting again?” he asked. 

Leona cleared her throat. “Uh, October 8th. Saturday.”

Zeke nodded. “We’ll be there. I look forward to working with you.”


End file.
